You Have To Love Something
by DarlingTwist
Summary: Dean refuses to speak to Castiel, but the angel promised to try and make it up to Dean and he won't give up so easily. Slight spoilers for season seven but nothing explicitly mentioned.


The motel room was dark, dusty and damp, the acidic smell of brand-less cleaners seeping out from around the ajar bathroom door like a ghost. The light that trickled out to fall on the worn carpet, the stained floral covers of the queen beds, the slack features of the Winchester brothers, was weak and pale like a faded memory.

A bottle of over the counter sleeping pills lay discarded, toppled, on the bedside table between the beds. The red of the alarm clock ticked over to four in the morning, its solemn haze catching on Dean's closed eyes, staining the long lashes a shade of crimson, the shadows fine and delicate beneath them.

In the crushing silence of a deadened world the shrill ring of his phone rang out, like the call of an impatient bird. Eyes still closed, Dean threw his dangling half numb hand up to grab his cell from where it lay.

"Who is this?" he demanded in a whisper, rolling onto his back, unwilling to open his eyes. His other hand drifted up to lay against his forehead.

"Dean," the voice was breathed out, low and terribly familiar. Dean's eyes flashed open in surprise, his heart clenching painfully and the breath catching in a hard lump at the back of his throat.

He didn't say anything, just lay there, eyes looking at the ceiling painted in orange streetlight sliced across it by blinds but not seeing anything but the smooth burning blue of _his_eyes. That blue that burnt as bright and clear as the cold heart of a flame.

"Dean," the voice roughly repeated, more urgent. "I'm sorry."

Closing his eyes, the hunter covered them with his now trembling hand, the phone pressing to close to his ear, straining to hear through the buzzing static of silence on the other side.

"Say something," that goddamn voice pleaded, begged, and it hurt to hear that almost child-like petulance coming through the line.

"I have nothing to say to you," Dean finally replied, his voice too loud in the heavy lightlessness of the room. He rolled to sit up, his bare feet touching the carpet, toes digging and curling into it on reflex.

He looked over the the sprawl of Sam, his brother lost in dreams less troubling then the things that lay before him in reality. Or at least Dean hoped they were less troubling.

There was a small sound on the other end of the line, an echo of something dropping, a small shuffle and rustle of clothing. Dean looked over the room to where he knew the bundled trench coat lay, hidden in his duffel bag. He began to wander, steps shuffling, towards the rooms front door.

The line was still quiet. Then there was a small hurried rush of words to soft and quick for Dean to make out. He opened the door, stepping out into the cold early morning air, leaving it open slightly behind him.

"Cas," Dean sighed, anger snarling below the sounds surface, looking up at the purple night sky. "Why are you calling me?"

Castiel answered quickly. "I need to see you Dean, I need to make everything okay."

"Yeah, you broke it, then you tried to fix it but you still managed to fuck up," Dean said, trying to keep his voice down, pacing. "You're a child Castiel, you can't fix anything, you can't just make this shit all better."

A beat of bitter silence spread between them as rain began to fall.

"Can I come see you?"

"No, Castiel, you can't," Dean forced out, even as his very soul gave a desperate tug to utter yes.

There was a loud crack from the end and Dean held the phone away from his ear, even as there was a beating sound behind him. He turned, small stones burying into his heels, and cursed.

"I said no," Dean said forcefully, turning away from Castiel.

"Please look at me," Castiel said, hand searing hot through the flimsy black sleeve of Dean's shirt. "I need to see you."

Dean turned slowly, eyes guarded. "What do you want? I'm not going to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk about what I've done now Dean," Castiel whispered, and god, the way he said _what I've done_made Dean want to touch him back, to reach out how he used to, how he had learned to do with Castiel. "I want to talk about you and I."

"The way I see things Cas, is what you've done and what we had are kind of all tied together-"

"Your right," Castiel interrupted, stepping closer and as he came into the light, into the soft rain, Dean saw him. Saw his furrowed brows, the ache filled blue of his eyes, and Dean wanted to nothing more than to have Castiel with him again. To feel those soft lips against his, not to see them pulled down at the corners with utter guilt and terrible sadness.

Dean was trying to be angry, hell he was angry, but it was his Cas standing there, broken and wanting to be made better.

Dean reached up to where Castiel's hand still lingered, atop the place he had marked Dean as his own, and pushed it away, damp skin against damp.

Castiel looked like he wanted to disappear. Like he wanted to run. His expression became desperate, and he reached for Dean as he began to turn to go back into the motel room.

"Dean, I love you," he said.

The first time it had been said, and it was said like that. Dean turned back around, his expression a fine line between helpless anger and misery, and grabbed Castiel's face between his hands, too rough and hard, not caring enough to be careful, and he kissed his angel.

The rain slid down their faces like tears, maybe there were tears but Dean would never know. His thumbs dug into the slight dips below Castiel's cheekbones, curling his fingers to press into the place where his jaw swooped up to the angels reddening ears.

"Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean sighed, simply resting his forehead against his angel's, noses touching, lips inches away. "You fucked up."

Castiel closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He began to try and look away from Dean but was held there by the hunters strong hands, the palms soft and the fingertips a little rough.

"Look at me, dammit Cas, look at me."

Castiel opened his eyes and Dean was swallowed up by them, so wide, so trusting, so broken. Dean felt selfish suddenly, selfish he was being angry and bitter and hateful, when Castiel had already paid for what he had done. Standing there, looking cold and wet with water rolling over the planes of his features, he looked as he had done the day he had come out of the lake and it was Dean he had first gone to, fallen to his knees and cried.

"I hate you," Dean started, voice falling deep and low with the words. Castiel's eyes widened. "But I still- I mean,-"

He shut his eyes a moment, dashed a kiss to Castiel's lips, let one hand drift to cradle the back of Castiel's head, fingers knotting and twisting into the soft black hair. Then he opened them again breathing a little harder. Castiel was solemnly looking at him, as Dean anxiously toyed with his hair gently, like clumsy caresses.

"There's some things I can't forgive, like what you did to Sam," even as he said it he wanted to shove Castiel away from him, to punch him, to maim him. To make him as broken as he had made Sam, the one constant in Dean's dead end existence. "And I know you fixed him, but you still did what you did and you can't change that."

Castiel said nothing, but he looked down.

"I can't forgive how you went against me, how you couldn't trust me, how you didn't think about _us_," Dean hissed, shaking his head and blinking hard, raindrops collecting on his lashes.

Castiel lifted his hands to cover Dean's over his face, still looking down, lacing his fingers between Deans's, holding them there.

"I couldn't understand then," he murmured. "Just how wrong I was and I feel nothing but sorrow for what I did, for the things I destroyed and made ugly."

His eyes lifted to Dean's and his bottom lip quivered for a moment. "I remember those things as if they are being held in front of me, evidence as if I am on trial before my own conscience, but I remember also every moment you and I had, and I treasure that."

"Cas..."

"I'm too selfish to stop living, selfish to live for those memories," Castiel inched closer, the only thing separating their bodies clothes and the heat rolling off the other.

"I'll love you until the end of me, and then even in death I would still love you Dean Winchester."

"Oh fuck, Cas," Dean said angrily, but his heart was hammering into the silent morning, into the silent darkness around them, echoing off every individual drop of rain, reverberating in the spaces between their bodies.

"I hate you, I fucking _hate_you," and then Dean was once more kissing him, furious and consuming, teeth bumping, lips moving out of sync. Castiel's hands slipped down to hold Dean's wrists, as if to feel the exact pulse of him there.

It felt as though gravity was shifting too fast around them, as if it was going to tear them apart and it made Dean press into Castiel more so.

Their hips touched, their chests brushed, their knees knocked together, their hair mingled in the rain as they molded to each other.

"I hate myself too," Castiel slipped in between Dean's lips. "Please, don't leave me Dean, I need you."


End file.
